


A Perpetual Estrangement

by satelliteinasupernova



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Betty Cooper, Demisexual Jughead Jones, Eventual Smut, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satelliteinasupernova/pseuds/satelliteinasupernova
Summary: The first time she saw Forsythe Jones after seven years, he was smiling; the center of attention among a company of men and women eagerly hanging on his every word. Betty was standing at the other end of the room, but she might as well have been oceans away.In their youth, Forsythe Jones, or Jughead, as he had insisted on being called then, had not been comfortable in the spotlight. When Betty first met him, he had been standing in Archie’s shadow, watching as though he was no more than a mere onlooker. Now, he was much changed.She had met him at the bright age of sixteen, only recently having come out to society herself.She could still vividly remember the wounded anger on his face when they had last parted. Did he still remember her tears from back then?-a Persuasion AU-
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge (background), Betty Cooper & Midge Klump, Betty Cooper & Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Jughead Jones & Midge Klump, Jughead Jones & Moose Mason, Midge Klump/Moose Mason (background)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	A Perpetual Estrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Let this be my dedicated 2021 fic project. If Riverdale is going to do a reunion plot, I'm going to do a Persuasion AU.
> 
> Thank you to kayromantic for the beta!

_ “There could have been no two hearts _

_ So open, no tastes so similar, no feelings _

_ So in unison, no countenances _

_ So beloved. Now they were strangers; _

_ Nay, worse than strangers, for they _

_ Could never become acquainted. _

_ It was a perpetual estrangement.” _

Jane Austen,  **Persuasion**

  
  


The first time she saw Forsythe Jones after seven years, he was smiling; the center of attention among a company of men and women eagerly hanging on his every word. Betty was standing at the other end of the room, but she might as well have been oceans away.

In their youth, Forsythe Jones, or Jughead, as he had insisted on being called then, had not been comfortable in the spotlight. When Betty first met him, he had been standing in Archie’s shadow, watching as though he was no more than a mere onlooker. Now, he was much changed.

She had met him at the bright age of sixteen, only recently having come out to society herself. 

She could still vividly remember the wounded anger on his face when they had last parted. Did he still remember her tears from back then?

Midge was at Betty’s side, their arms entwined. “An acquaintance of my father’s,” she whispered in Betty’s ear. “You do know how my father loves to serve as a patron to the arts. Mr. Jones is a writer. His first published book is all the rage in society right now. Have you heard of it?”

Betty gave a noncommittal sound that Midge seemed to take as a ‘no.’

“Come. Let me introduce you,” said Midge, already pulling Betty along by the arm. Betty only had the few seconds it took to walk across the room to prepare herself, to bring out the polite, attentive smile that she had perfected throughout her adulthood. As they approached, a few out of the group glanced her way with interest, but the conversation carried on.

“I was shocked! I’d thought the family was so well-realized, so like my own. Then, as each secret unfolded, it only shocked me more,” spoke one young lady.

The gentleman next to her added. “Where do you get these ideas of yours?”

“Well, certainly, you can’t become a writer without an overactive imagination,” Mr. Jones answered with a slow, teasing smile. 

Betty’s heart tightened painfully in her chest, after all these years, to hear the sound of his voice again. In her time away from him, it had grown no less familiar to her.

Betty had expected the conversation to carry on despite her, but at a polite break in the conversation, one of the young women turned to her. “Midge, who is your friend? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Midge brightened at the acknowledgment and pulled Betty forward, a half step closer to the group. “This is my good friend Elizabeth Cooper. We met several years ago at the wedding between Mr. Mantle and her sister, Pauline Mantle. Betty,” she said, switching back to a slightly more casual tone. “This is Miss Valerie Brown, one of a lovely trio of musicians I hope you will get the chance to hear perform very soon.”

“You flatter me,” Miss Brown teased, but her smile was genuine. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Cooper.”

“Likewise,” Betty responded weakly, struggling to find her voice. The faces among the group seemed friendly and engaging, but Betty was too distracted by the proximity of Mr. Jones to be comforted by them. She could barely breathe, it was as if every particle of her being was aware of his presence.

“What do you play?” Betty asked, hoping that her anxiety didn’t show in her voice.

“Primarily the piano forte,” Miss Brown said. “I accompany Josie’s singing, with Melody at the harp.” She motioned to the other side of the room where a group of young women were playing a friendly game of cards. “We have a performance planned for next month. I hope you can come see us.”

“I’d love to,” Betty said honestly. She found Miss Brown’s steady smile almost soothing, despite everything. However, she stiffened as, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Jones shift, his body language suggesting that he was about to walk away. During her introduction to Miss Brown, he had not looked her way once, despite their close proximity. 

However, before he could leave, Midge turned to introduce him. “This is Mr. Jones, our favorite author in town.” Mr. Jones turned at the sound of the name and gave Midge a dull look that subtly communicated a familiarity between the two of them.

In that moment, Betty found herself making a choice. She forced her lips into a pleasant smile and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones.” Even just speaking the words, it felt as if her own heart might collapse. Part of her wanted him to catch her in the lie, as much as she had chosen her words to make their reunion easier. If not for her, then at least for him. 

For the briefest moment his mouth tightened into a thin line, and then without meeting her gaze, he answered simply. “The pleasure is mine.” His dull tone made it abundantly clear that wasn’t true, but no one else seemed at all taken aback by the chill in his voice.

He soon excused himself as Midge continued to introduce Betty to the members of the party. Betty did her best to distract herself from the sharp pain of unshed tears building behind her eyes by choosing instead to smile wider. She repeated each name as it was given to her. Then in the spaces between, she would spell each name out in her head, focusing on each letter, and not the years-long stranger that was Mr. Jones. She easily recalled Miss Valerie Brown’s brother, Mr. Trevor Brown, Mr. Moose Mason, Miss Ethel Muggs, Miss Melody Valentine and Miss Josie McCoy. Soon she had been introduced to every guest of the party, a gathering of easily thirty people.

Betty didn’t find herself talking with any one person for very long. By the time she had made it all the way around the room with Midge, the hour was starting to grow late. 

Betty was startled when she was suddenly steered toward the center of the room, Midge pulling her by the arm. Midge flagged down one of the staff, and took two flutes of champagne from his serving tray; one for her, one for Betty. With a quick glance around the room, Betty saw that the other members of the staff were also handing out a glass to each one of the guests. With some trepidation, Betty held her glass in hand, and looked to Midge for instruction.

With a simple clearing of her throat, Midge called for attention. “Thank you everyone for joining us today. I realize the night is wrapping up, but I wanted to take this moment to call for a toast.” With her flute high in her hand, Midge turned to face Betty. To avoid looking at the many faces now turned toward her, Betty returned Midge’s gaze, hoping that her embarrassment wasn’t too obvious.

“I am sure you have all had the chance to be introduced to my dear friend, Miss Elizabeth Cooper, but I’d like everyone to please join me in welcoming her to our humble town. We are blessed to have her with us.” From the crowd came a few, cheery “here, here’s” that warmed Betty’s anxious heart.

“To the Cooper family,” Midge said before tilting her glass to her lips. The crowd echoed her words, glasses up in the air. Shyly, Betty took a sip from her own drink. 

It was a comfort, to have a caring friend among all the change. Someone to turn to even though her heart was currently in turmoil. If not for Midge, Betty wasn’t sure how she would survive the night. It made her own aching heart just a touch easier to ignore. It eased the pain of being separated from her closest companions that she had lived near all of her life. Midge was a blessing. Even if their friendship might continue to put her in the path of a man who, simply with his voice, could tear her heart to shreds.

As Midge led Betty away from the spotlight, the crowd’s attention quickly dissolved as individual conversations built up throughout the room. Still, Betty’s stomach churned at the sensation of a pair of eyes watching her. Without looking, she could not determine the source, but she knew without doubt that it was from the corner of the room where Mr. Jones had been standing.

Taking one deep breath to steel her nerves, she allowed herself a small glance in his direction. Her heart froze tight in her chest when her gaze immediately locked onto the eyes of the person staring at her. It wasn’t Mr. Jones, but a man in his company, standing just to his left. He was tall, his blond hair slicked back. When their eyes met, he gave her an oddly smug smirk. Belatedly, she remembered his name. Midge had introduced him as Mr. Bret Weston Wallis, a writer and companion to Mr. Jones. Betty instantly disliked him. She looked away abruptly, hating that her response would only further encourage that smug expression on his face. Turning her back to him, she sought out an amicable conversation she could attach herself to. Almost as soon as she stepped forward, Miss Brown was waving her over, pulling her into a conversation with her fellow musicians about the music halls in the city and her experience with them. 

As the party started to unwind, the people around Betty started to talk about heading home. A small gathering was already building up at the front entrance, as carriages were being brought around for the guests. Midge was at the center of it with her mother, sending well wishes and waving goodbye to everyone as they left. 

Betty stood back as the others around her started to head out. She hoped for one last moment to thank Midge for her kind hospitality before leaving for the night, so waited patiently on her own for the crowd to dwindle.

It was only as Betty settled herself at a bench in front of the large windows overlooking the front of the estate that she again heard the familiar voice of Mr. Jones. He had been hanging back for most of the party and while people had gathered to leave, she had lost track of him among the guests.

“I’ll stop by for a visit later this week. I didn’t get a chance to update you on what I’m writing.” Compared to the bold words he’d had among the guests earlier that night, his tone was humble now.

“Great to see you enjoying yourself today, Jones,” said Mr. Klump, gripping Mr. Jones on the shoulder with an air of pride. “You’re starting to get the hang of promoting yourself.”

“I’m not so sure about that, sir,” Mr. Jones answered wryly.

To Betty’s horror, this was the exact moment that Mr. Klump noticed her sitting just a few steps away listening in on their conversation. “Miss Cooper,” he called over, warmly. Finding herself caught, Betty pulled herself up from her seat and stepped toward them uneasily.

“So thrilled to have you join us today. Please send our well wishes to your mother, we are very much looking forward to seeing her again.” Mr. Klump said, graciously. Betty hoped she could say the same for her mother, but Betty had the suspicion that her mother was determined to dislike the Klumps purely out of jealousy for their wealth. As she had been determined to dislike the Andrews. And the Lodges. 

And yet, Betty couldn’t help but also think of the man standing just beside her, who her mother had disliked for quite the opposite reason.

“I also hope you will have the chance to talk to our small company of writers more,” Mr. Klump continued. “Mr. Jones, Mr. Wallace, and Miss Sweet are all rebels in their own way, but I think you would find enjoyment in their company, Miss Cooper.”

Betty answered with a polite smile. Mr. Jones was looking off in the distance, completely divorced from the conversation.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Jones said, tightly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to Mason before he left for the night.”

“Of course!” said Mr. Klump, who seemed completely oblivious to the tension evident in Mr. Jones’s voice.

Mr. Jones took a step forward, and as if only just remembering that Betty was there, he turned, looking vaguely in her direction without actually meeting her eyes. “Pleasure to meet you. Miss Cooper.” And then he was gone.

How odd, for a simple phrase to make her feel so achingly lonely. He had only repeated her words. They had been her choice… yet.

She could no longer stand to be here. There would be no beginning anew, there would be no words of understanding. She and Mr. Jones were strangers. She was a stranger to him now, and one he had no care of knowing.

With her weary heart practically lodged in her throat, Betty made her way through the crowd to find Midge. 

Mercifully, as Midge said goodbye to one couple, she noticed Betty approaching and made space for her. 

“I would have liked to stay to speak with you longer,” Betty said, apologetically. “But I’m afraid I’ve grown tired.”

“Oh, no, of course,” Midge answered, sympathetically. “You had a long trip today. I am grateful you were able to come tonight in the first place. We’ll get a carriage for you.” Midge smoothly signalled the servant who was guiding the carriages forward. In short order, a free carriage pulled up in front of them, the coachman opening the carriage door for her.

“We’ll have to have tea soon, just the two of us. And soon.” Midge’s words were warm and certain.

“Thank you, Midge,” Betty replied, with as much honesty as she could express. As she sat down in the carriage, she gave one more smile goodbye before the door was shut. 

She was barely holding herself together, but as soon as the carriage started to move, Betty felt her shoulders drop. She curled up in the corner against the window, a pitiful sob escaping her.

What a night. Tears overwhelmed her senses as she pointlessly attempted to wipe them away, only to be replaced within seconds. With her hands covering her face, she gave in to her tears, succumbing to a fit of sobs.

She would allow herself these few moments. She needed to get herself together before she reached her destination. Her time in the carriage travelling back to her brother-in-law’s house was all the time she could allow.

Betty slowly regained her composure, taking deep breaths and steadying the back of her head against the headrest of her seat. She blinked up at the coach ceiling, hoping the air would dry her eyes. 

She could not let herself falter here. It had taken her months since her father’s passing to finally convince her mother to rent out the family home. Their finances were in shambles. All of her father’s wealth had transferred to his cousin Clifford Blossom at the time of his death. Thankfully, several years prior, her father had chosen to transfer Betty’s dowry under her name. It was a good sum of money, and had kept her and Alice afloat in the city for a few months, but it could not sustain them in the long run. Her mother was being stubborn, since the family property had been passed down from her parents, and thus was tied to her name. The last thing Alice wanted to do was give up the property. She was prideful, and she hated others to see her falter.

They were faltering. Reginald and Polly’s invitation to live with them was their saving grace, even if her mother’s pride kept her from seeing it. 

So, when the carriage arrived back at the house, no, Betty would not be crying. She would tell her mother what a splendid time she’d had among this small town society. 

As the carriage turned onto the gravel path toward the property, Betty was calm. She would not let her mind replay every interaction, every glimpse of Mr. Jones that night. Of the distance between them. He was a stranger. She was a stranger to him. As it had been for the past seven years.

With one last, painful breath, Betty stepped out of the carriage and entered the house.

Her mother, sister, and brother-in-law were gathered together in the sitting room; the twins having long gone to bed.

Polly’s face brightened as soon as Betty entered the room. “How was it? Tell us all about it.” 

From the couch across from Polly, their mother watched the interaction with barely more than vague interest.

“It was wonderful,” Betty said, drawing enthusiasm from deep inside of her. “I feel I must have met half of society. Midge kindly introduced me. I was very taken with Miss Valerie Brown, do you know her?”

“Oh, yes,” Polly said cheerfully. “We’ve met her a number of times.” She looked up at her husband as she spoke, who was smoothly leaning against the chair with a glass in his hand, he gave an affirming nod. “She is the most lovely pianist,” Polly added. “It’s a treat whenever she chooses to perform music for dancing.”

“She told me she has a performance together with Miss McCoy and Miss Valentine next month.” Betty eyed her mother openly. This was the exact event that Alice had complained she would be without if they moved away from the city. 

Instead of responding, Alice changed the subject. “Well, I am sure you gave Mr. and Mrs. Klump your thank you for the invitation. As much as it was a bit of an ask to request you join them on the same night that we arrived.”

Betty gave a tight smile. They had already spoken at length on this point before she’d left for the gathering, when she had tried in vain to convince her mother to come along. In hindsight, considering how the night had turned out, Betty thought to herself that it had been a stroke of luck her mother had not come tonight. She did not know how her mother would respond when she found out that Mr. Jones was in the area. Betty had barely made it through the night even without her mother’s insights into the man she had forbidden Betty to marry.

That would be a battle for another day.

Betty took a breath as she sat down in a chair by the small desk that she had often liked to use as a spot for reading during her few previous visits since Reggie and Polly’s marriage. On the table there was a small collection of books, as well as a recent news letter. 

The room did not stay quiet for long. Polly was just as eager as Betty to convince their mother that she could be happy in the country.

“Well, you will have a few days to settle in before the tavern ball. Everyone who is anyone goes there. You will have the chance to meet the best the country has to offer,” Polly said brightly.

Alice, as usual, did not hide her distaste. “At a tavern? Goodness.” Her mother’s attitude did not surprise Betty. The balls her mother frequented in the city were held in grand estates, or large, elegant ballrooms designed specifically for events such as these. 

Reggie laughed, not looking surprised by Alice’s tone in the least. “Pop’s tavern is one of the best places in town, Mrs. C. We’ll be able to introduce you to the most influential people in the area.” It was a blatant appeal for Alice’s interests, but she stubbornly feigned disinterest.

Fortunately, the uncomfortable tension building in the room was interrupted by the housemaid stepping in to serve them a late night snack with a fresh pot of tea. Betty gratefully took a cup and saucer from the tray. 

To make room for her cup of tea, Betty moved the newsletters off of the table beside her. She froze at the sight of a familiar cover. An achingly familiar book. In clean, dark letters it’s title,  _ Eleanor: The Malefactor’s Daughter. _

“You have Mr. Jones’s book.” If she had been less rattled, she might not have brought attention to it, but the words came unbidden from her mouth.

“Oh, yes. Did you meet him? Mr. Klump is hosting a collection of writers over the course of the season. That book is particularly popular. I keep meaning to get to it, it’s all people are talking about.”

Betty swallowed. Her mother was watching her with a particular, sharp-eyed look. Betty did her best to calmly move the book aside and set her cup and saucer onto the table. “Yes, he was there tonight,” Betty hoped her tone was casual.

“Had you heard of him?” Polly continued. “Is his book as popular in town as it is out here?”

Betty was tempted to laugh. Instead she only said, “Yes, I’ve heard of him.” She knew that Polly meant no harm. Betty couldn’t say she was particularly surprised that Polly hadn’t recognized the name. Jones, afterall, was a common last name, and Polly had barely met him back then. 

For a moment, her mothers lips tightened, as though she considered speaking, but when she did, it was only to excuse herself for bed. Polly soon followed after giving her husband a kiss on the cheek.

The room was completely quiet. Betty looked up to see Reggie looking at her thoughtfully. He walked across the room and sat down at the lounge chair on the other side of the table.

“I’m sorry, Betty. I assumed she’d warned you. I thought she knew.” Reggie’s smile was always a bit teasing, but when he spoke his eyes were kind.

Betty picked up the book and turned it over in her hands. “Have you talked to him?”

Reggie leaned back in his chair with a heavy breath. “In passing. We run in similar circles. He is friends with a few of my old friends, that sort of thing.”

“Such a small world,” Betty mused.

“I can talk to Polly,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“We… We met again for the first time tonight.” It was hard to speak the words while Jughead’s book was in her hands. She set it back down. “We met as though we were strangers. Mother won’t say anything. No one else knows. It’s fine as it is.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then softly he said, “Will you be alright?”

This time, Betty didn’t have to force herself to smile. It was weak, but this time it was honest. “I hope so.”

  
  
  


Despite Polly and Betty’s best efforts, their mother could not be persuaded to join them to the ball later that week. Her excuse was that the twins would need someone to stay with them, despite the fact that Reggie had arranged the housekeeper to stay late to watch them for the night.

Still, their mother’s absence almost felt like a blessing as Betty settled into a carriage with Polly and Reggie across from her. For the first time that week, they were able to be in each other’s company without the looming discontentment of Alice Cooper.

It was not long before they arrived, the inn nearly glowing with activity. Out of a line of carriage filtered families and couples in dress just as beautiful as could be found in the city, some faces Betty recognized, others completely new to her.

Counter to her mother’s unmerited scorn, as soon as Betty entered the building, she found the inn to be a very welcoming environment. Just inside the entrance was a front desk next to a curved wood staircase, and the left side wall opened up into a large gathering room with tables along the walls and plenty of open room for dancing. 

Betty immediately turned around to express her appreciation to her sister and brother-in-law, but was surprised to find them absent. With a quick glance out the front window, she realized they had been caught up in a conversation with someone on the front steps of the building. Choosing not to interrupt, Betty instead turned curiously toward the ballroom, only to collide with a person quickly exiting the space.

Betty spoke quick words of apology, immediately taking a few steps back. It was only then that she realized that the man she had run into was Mr. Jones. 

The sudden shock of the moment left Mr. Jones’s expression quite unguarded. His eyebrows were drawn in a clear look of annoyance, and they only furrowed more as their eyes met. With little else to do to ease the situation, Betty gave an awkward curtsey, her legs unsteady, leaving her slightly unbalanced.

Mr. Jones responded with a curt bow and a nearly unintelligible, “Excuse me,” before walking past her. She did not have the chance to catch where he went, as at that moment, Polly and Reginald had entered the building and caught up with her.

“Sorry for abandoning you there, Sister,” Polly said, smiling as though she had no such concern at all.

“Pulled aside by one of our neighbors,” Reggie explained.

Betty smiled, a bit more forcefully than she would have liked. 

It did not go unnoticed by Polly. “Are you alright? You look a bit flushed.”

“Just...flush with excitement, I suppose,” Betty lied, her words catching with a breathy laugh.

As they entered the ballroom, they passed by the piano, where cheerful music was playing for the patron’s entertainment. Betty walked in behind Reggie and Polly, who were linked arm and arm. Midge noticed her from the other end of the room and waved her over, as Polly and Reggie migrated to greet their friends among the crowd.

“So glad you were able to make it, Betty,” Midge said as soon as they reached each other.

“Unfortunately, my mother has not joined us,” Betty told her with a sigh. “She will never get used to the idea of living in the country if she doesn’t become acquainted with the people here.”

Midge nodded sympathetically. “It’s still all new. Just give it some time, she will learn to love us, I promise.” Midge winked with a confidence that Betty wished she shared.

While they were still talking, they were interrupted by a low cough; an attempt to get their attention.

“Pleasure to see you again, Miss Cooper.” It was the smug man who had locked eyes with her on the night she had come to town; Bret Weston Wallis.

“Mr. Wallis,” Midge said, eying him with a friendly smile, but a subtle gaze of skepticism. 

Betty felt vindicated by Midge’s response, since she was feeling the same skepticism. Still, she responded politely with a small curtsey. “Good Evening, Mr. Wallis.”

His smile was unwavering, almost a permanent fixture among the sharp ridges of his face. “The dancing should be starting soon. Please, if you would honor me the first dance of the night.”

There was a sharpness to his eyes that she didn’t trust, but as the music shifted to a jauntier tune and the people around them started to gather toward the center of the room, Betty felt compelled to say yes. He put a hand out to her, and with stiff formality, guided her into position among the other couples.

The dance was familiar to her, so she quickly eased into the rhythm of the steps. Now that they were dancing together, Mr. Wallis didn’t seem to be paying her much mind at all. When the dance called for it, he reached out for her hand, her arm. It was all well practiced, but mechanical and dispassionate in its precision. When Betty glanced at his face, it still occupied that tight, self-impressed smile. His gaze was heated and sharp, but was directed past her shoulder toward the collection of guests gathered in groups by the tables. She tried to get a sense of where he was looking as they circled in place, but soon gave up entirely, the swirling figures starting to make her feel dizzy.

As the dance ended, Mr. Wallis offered to lead her back to where Midge had gathered with a few others. Then, he continued to ingratiate himself into the conversation, comfortably standing at her side. Midge’s acquaintances, a few she had met before, including Mr. Mason and Miss Valentine, eyed Mr. Wallis with more distaste than friendliness, but none of them objected to his presence. They were soon joined by Miss Donna Sweett, another face Betty could vaguely recall from earlier introductions. Over their discussion, Betty was reminded that both Mr. Wallis and Miss Sweett were writers under the patronage of Midge’s father, much like Mr. Jones.

Miss Sweett eyed Betty with a particular look of interest. “Midge has told us a lot about you. She’s very pleased to have such a pleasant city girl join us here.”

“Are you from the country as well?” Betty asked, still trying to get a feel for both of these writers, who had so much in common with Mr. Jones.

“Oh, me? No. I spent my whole life in academia. I was raised at the college where my father lectures. Really, I can’t compare to the city charms of someone like you,” Miss Sweett said with an exaggerated wink. Betty was under the distinct impression she was being flirted with.

Which in contrast, made Mr. Wallis’s request for a second dance feel even more peculiar. The second dance felt just as stilted as the first, if anything, Mr. Wallis seemed to be feeling even more smug and superior. This time, he did not look at the crowd, but carried on a friendly, if formulaic conversation with her. Repeating questions that Betty was used to being asked, but when she answered politely, the words didn’t seem to even enter his mind.

“Are you taking well to the country? You’ve been the talk of the town this past week.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’re not so interesting,” she answered demurely, an automatic response. She would have been content to finish the rest of the dance in silence, but she continued the conversation between them, if only to give her more insight into this disconcerting man. “The country is lovely though, very amenable to walks. Have you found places that you like to frequent?”

“Hmm,” Bret answered, completely stepping past her question. “And your mother? Is she taking to the country?”

A tense subject, but Betty just answered with a smile. “She misses our home, but she will fall in love with the country, I’m sure.”

Bret nodded vaguely, and then the dance was done. Once again, he escorted her back to the group. As they walked across the ballroom, they passed by Polly, who was stepping out for the next dance with her husband. Her eyes shifted between Betty and her dance partner with an exaggerated pointedness. Her expression was gleeful. There was no helping it, all of the night’s events would be relayed to her mother later. 

Alice had been the last to give up on the quest to find Betty a suitable marriage partner. If anything, the prospect of fresh blood might actually inspire her mother out into country society. Betty knew her mother well enough that she would view a wealthy marriage as the perfect avenue for their return to the city and the life she preferred.

Nevermind that Betty was quickly passing marriageable age, and was hardly the first choice of most bachelors. Unmarried men rarely wanted a wife who was older than them, and widowed men were particularly interested in young women who they could most trust to give them a son.

Mr. Wallis’s sudden and persistent interest was very peculiar. Betty had entertained the attention of men over the years. Some had gracefully relented when she expressed her disinterest, others had been more persistent in their pursuit. Mr. Wallis reminded her of none of those men. She suspected that Mr. Wallis did not like her at all. His persistent attention only confused her.

Hoping for a brief respite, Betty searched the party for her sister, eventually finding her enraptured in gossip with a few other women. 

“Oh, sister.” Polly said when Betty took a place beside her. Polly’s eyes were glowing with excitement. “I have just heard the most salacious news.” Personally, Betty did not find the story of a farmhand’s elopement quite as engrossing as her sister did, but she accepted the distraction with half an ear. Out of the corner of her eyes, she kept track of Bret’s whereabouts. When he noticed that she was occupied, he eventually made his way back to their previous group. 

When Polly was eventually pulled away from her friends by Reggie, requesting her company, Betty recognized that her reprieve had come to an end. As soon as Polly stepped away, Betty could see Bret approaching out of the corner of her eye. She wondered briefly if she would be able to politely feign another distraction, but before she had the opportunity, she felt the presence of someone else beside her. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to see Mr. Jones in front of her only a few steps away, his hand held out toward her.

“Could I have this dance?” he asked, impossibly, absurdly. Betty couldn’t find the words to respond, but her hand reached for his before she had even considered an answer.

His hand was gentle, but firm around hers as he pulled her toward the dance floor. When he released her to take his place on the other side of the floor, Betty felt as if all warmth had gone with him. Although they were facing each other, he would not meet her eyes, but she could not stop herself from staring at him.

Then the music began, and Jughead was stepping toward her, taking her hand again. They moved in tandem, a rhythm Betty had followed hundreds of times before, and yet this dance felt like something completely new. It felt as if the floor were shifting under her feet. When his hand moved to her waist, circling around her, Betty felt consumed. She knew the very scent of him, it was as familiar to her as the scent of the evening after a storm, the crisp air in an early autumn morning. 

Betty had never forgotten a moment between them, not one, but being so close to him was to relive each moment all over again. She may have remembered what had happened, what had been said between them, but she hadn’t remembered this. What it felt like to be touching him. How the world around her changed when he was there.

But now he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze shifted to their feet, to her hands when they touched, to her dress when he supported her as they turned. Betty had never known a dance to feel so torturous, or so overwhelming. Had dancing been like this when they were young?

They had danced together at city balls a number of times, back then she knew him as Archie’s school friend, and he knew her as Archie’s neighbor since childhood. When they danced, it had been mostly a game. If they were dancing, then Jughead wouldn’t have to socialize, and Betty wouldn’t have to entertain possible suitors. Dancing with him had made her laugh, made him smile. She could not remember ever feeling like this.

All too soon, the dance was over. Betty did not feel relieved by its end, only a pitiful longing for it to continue. She dreaded the moment she knew was coming next, when Mr. Jones would step away again, shifting back into a stranger in her life. 

Still, the moment came. Betty curtsied while holding every mangled, painful emotion deep within her. Across from her, Mr. Jones bowed, but the moment he straightened again, for one single heartbeat, their eyes met.

It clashed with her expectations, the look in his eyes. She hadn’t realized it until that very moment, but she had expected an expression of annoyance on his face, or worse, anger. Betty did not know why he had invited her to dance, but she did know that nothing between them had changed by him doing so. She knew quite well what Forsythe Jones thought of her. 

His eyes were not angry. Instead, he looked at her with some bewilderment. His eyebrows were drawn together, as though she were a puzzle that he’d found unexpectedly difficult. 

Then, the moment was over. He walked away, abandoning her on the dance floor. 

Betty kept a brave face, she smiled at the dancers beside her and excused herself. She did not look for a familiar face to return to, instead, she sought refuge in an empty chair in the corner. Burned in her eyes was that one moment, that one look between them. She could not decipher it, but cherished it all the same. If he felt anything for her that was not hatred or disinterest, then she would treasure it.

For the rest of the night, Mr. Wallis did not approach her again. His usual self-satisfied expression had shifted to grim displeasure. As for Mr. Jones, Betty did not see him again for the remainder of the night. She could feel that something had shifted the moment Mr. Jones had asked her to dance, but could not determine why that would be. She could only guess that there must be some tension between Mr. Wallis and Mr. Jones that went beyond her.

When Polly found her to say that it was time to return home, Betty was grateful for it. When Reggie asked her how she had enjoyed the ball, she lied and said that it had altogether been a nice evening. She repeated the same lie when they returned home and told her mother how much she had missed. Polly did not fail to update her on Mr. Wallis’s attention, which quickly opened up a discussion about, apparently, his extensive family wealth. 

Betty extracted herself from the conversation by excusing herself for bed. As she pulled off her layers of dress and pulled a nightgown over her head, her body felt numb. She had gone through so many extreme emotions in one night that she no longer had the energy left for any of them. 

It was only as she was lying in bed, curled under her sheets, that she started to regret that she had not picked up Polly’s copy of Mr. Jones’ book. Betty’s own copy, dog-eared, with ink notations across every margin, had been left behind in their home in the city. Betty had read it countless times; could practically recite the lines. Still, she wondered, if she looked at it now, would she see some feeling that she hadn’t before? Would she find some warmth under the hurt and disappointment?

After their seven years apart, what did Jughead think of her now?

  
  



End file.
